Modern Major Scientist
by LinziDay
Summary: Rodney hasn't slept in three days. He's a bit... loopy. And sing-y. Originally posted at sgaflashfic for the animal, vegetable or mineral challenge. Now with sequel!
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Modern Major Scientist  
**Author:** linziday  
**Rating:** K-plus (some swearing)  
**Genre:** Humor. Insanity. One of those.  
**Disclaimer:** I am neither Gilbert nor Sullivan. I am none of the several people/corporations that own SGA. (And also? If you get this song stuck in your head, _it's not my fault! _Or maybe it is. Still, I take no responsibility._)_

**A/N:** The first chapter of this story was originally posted at sgaflashfic as part of the animal, vegetable or mineral challenge. As for chapter 2 . . . imbecamiel _begged_ for a sequel showing John caught singing by Lorne or Ronon. (Actually, her exact words were "Ha, now I really, really want to read about Ronon and Lorne being called to intervene with Shep singing... Man, _someone_ should write that.") And I, eventually, got loopy enough to agree.

* * *

Sheppard was a good hundred yards from the lab when he caught the first rapid-fire notes.

"I am the very model of a modern major general. I've information vegetable, animal, and mineral —"

Radek had called him twenty minutes ago, concerned about Rodney's lack of sleep, his extreme caffeine consumption . . . his sudden fondness for a particular Gilbert and Sullivan tune.

"I cannot get him to leave. I cannot get him to stop. And please, Colonel, for the love of god, he must stop," Radek had begged over the radio.

Sheppard thought Czech scientist was pulling his leg, an April Fool's Day prank two months too late and too many hours past midnight to be funny. He'd just gotten to bed himself and he really wasn't up for the scientists' version of a practical joke, but Radek's imploring tone nagged at him. He got up, tugged on the t-shirt and the BDUs he just taken off and padded barefoot down to McKay's lab.

" — I know the kings of England, and I quote the fights historical, from Marathon to Waterloo, in order categorical — "

Apparently Radek hadn't been kidding.

Sheppard paused at the doorway. Rodney was standing at his worktable, gleefully typing at his laptop and singing at the top of his lungs.

"—I'm very well acquainted, too, with matters mathematical. I understand equations, both the simple and quadratical — "

He wasn't sure whether Rodney was timing the song to his typing or timing his typing to the song, but each _tap-tap-tap_ punctuated the beat perfectly.

"— About binomial theorems I'm teeming with a lot o' news. With many cheerful facts about the square of the hypotenuse!"

Sheppard leaned against the doorway and crossed his arms. He figured _what the hell_ and announced his presence with just a touch of lilt. "With many cheerful facts about the square of the hypotenuse. With many cheerful facts about the square of the hypotenuse. With many cheerful facts about the square of the hypotepotenuse."

Rodney's head jerked up. Sheppard expected him to turn red with embarrassment, to sputter about privacy and rant about nosey lieutenant colonels who should _mind their own goddamn business_.

Instead he broke into a grin.

"I'm very good at integral and differential calculus. I know the scientific names of beings animalculous." Rodney sang. "In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral. I am the very model of a modern major general."

He looked at Sheppard.

"In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral, he is the very model of a modern major general," Sheppard responded.

Rodney crowed with delight and continued singing

"In fact, when I know what is meant by mamelon and ravelin. . . ."

Sheppard strolled nonchalantly to Rodney's workstation, bumping up the lab's lights as he went. Closer, in better light, he could clearly see how pale Rodney was, how his hands trembled, how his eyes were wide and wild and seemed to sink into the dark hollows of his face. All classic signs that he was exhausted beyond all reason.

The singing was new, though.

He was actually pretty good.

"In short, when I've a smattering of elemental strategy, you'll say a better major general had never sat a-gee!"

"You'll say a better major general had never sat a-gee," Sheppard recited automatically, nudging a stool behind Rodney and pulling up one of his own. "You'll say a better major general had never sat a-gee. You'll say a better major general had never sat a sat a-gee."

"Ha!" Rodney exclaimed and ignored the stool in favor of a jaunty shuffle-step dance around the table. "For my military knowledge, though I'm plucky and adventury, has only been brought down to the beginning of the century. But still, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral, I am the very model of a modern major general."

"But still, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral — " Sheppard responded, only to have Rodney join him in unison, "He is the very model of a modern major general!"

Rodney tossed him a mock salute.

Then promptly collapsed.

"Crap! Rodney — " Sheppard dove around the table to find Rodney flat on his back, arms flung wide as if he'd just fallen into bed. "Are you all right?"

Rodney chuckled, then sighed somberly. "I really like that song."

"I can tell." Sheppard offered him a hand up. When Rodney looked perplexed and made no motion to get up, Sheppard grabbed his arms and hauled him to his feet. "I think it's time you got some sleep."

"Nah," Rodney said and wavered on his feet. Sheppard grabbed his elbow to keep him steady. "I don't need to sleep."

"You don't, huh?" Sheppard steered him toward the door.

"Nope," Rodney said matter-of-factly, making the p pop.

"Really?" Sheppard guided him down the hall. "So what's with the Pirates of Penzance routine?"

"Radek said I was so tired I couldn't even remember Newton's generalized binomial theorem. So I started singing."

Sheppard blinked. He didn't follow the logic, but. . . "Okay." Into the transporter.

"The _song_," Rodney said, obviously irritated that Sheppard didn't get it. "'About binomial theorem I'm teeming with a lot o' news.'"

"Oh. Yeah." Out of the transporter.

Rodney suddenly looked inordinately pleased with himself. "You know, I'm very well acquainted with matters mathematical."

"Yes, yes you are," Sheppard agreed. Down the corridor, toward the residential wing.

Rodney furrowed his brow. "Someone probably needs me. Someone always needs me." He wrenched his arm away from Sheppard and turned back toward the transporter. "I should go back to the lab."

"Oh, no, no, no." Sheppard made a grab for him and hustled him the last dozen steps to his quarters. "Lab later. Sleep now."

The door to Rodney's room slid open and Sheppard moved Rodney to the bed, maneuvering him until the backs of his legs hit the edge of the mattress and he sat down. While Rodney hummed "I am the very model of a modern major general," Sheppard knelt to untie his shoes.

"Hey, buddy, you didn't get zapped by any Ancient gadgets, by any chance, did you? Drink any of Radek's secret stash? Hit your head recently?"

Rodney snorted, derisive. "Genius here. I understand equations, both the simple and quadratical — "

"So I take that as a no."

"No. Yes. Yes, it's a no."

"Okay." Sheppard tossed the shoes under the bed. "And when was the last time you slept?"

"Um." Rodney tilted his head to the ceiling and seemed to consider the question with grave concentration. "When was the planet with all the mud?"

"MX1-124? Three days ago. Jesus, Rodney, you haven't slept in three days?"

Rodney ticked off the emergencies on his fingers. "Contagion protocols, shield modifications, call from the kid planet." He yawned. "Sewer backup in the east wing, grounding station one went down, grounding station two went down, grounding station three. . . . "

Sheppard pushed him back on the bed. Rodney was asleep before the covers settled over him.

With a sigh, Sheppard made sure Rodney's alarm was off. He turned down the lights and left for his own quarters. He'd slept since the mud planet, but not much. If he didn't crash soon, he'd be as loopy as Rodney.

Halfway down the hall, Sheppard started singing under his breath. "For my military knowledge, though I'm plucky and adventury. . . ."


	2. Chapter 2

A shaft of white moonlight cut across the dark hallway, inviting, and Lorne paused at the window to gaze at the clear night sky. Indulging for a moment, he scrubbed his face and yawned. He'd already walked the jumper bay, command tower, recreation wing and training wing. With just an hour left in his shift, he only had to pass through the rest of the residential halls and take another sweep of the command tower before heading to bed.

The stars were bright tonight, the perfect backdrop for the city's silver spires, and Lorne thought — not for the first time — that night duty had distinct advantages. Great scenery. The chance to walk the city unhurried, free of panic, and generally without the need to either run toward or away from an explosion. He could enjoy the peace, the quiet, the —

"_I am the very model of a modern major general."_

— singing?

Lorne pushed away from the window.

"_I've information vegetable, animal and mineral_."

What the hell?

"_I know the kings of England, and I quote the fights historical, from Marathon to Waterloo, in order categorical_."

Off key. Slightly off tempo. It almost sounded like. . . .

"Good evening, Colonel," Lorne greeted, smothering a grin as Sheppard rounded the corner, his mouth open, the next verse already forming on his lips.

But instead of _I'm very well acquainted, too, with matters mathematical_, Sheppard shouted "Jesus!" and jumped at least a foot in the air.

"Late night, sir?" Lorne asked nonchalantly, noting his CO's bare feet, wrinkled clothes and haggard expression.

"I hate McKay," Sheppard grumbled and continued walking.

Lorne fell into step beside him and stopped fighting his grin. "Gilbert and Sullivan, sir?"

"Hate them, too."

"Yes, sir."

"And words that rhyme. I really hate words that rhyme."

"Understandable," Lorne said, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice.

Apparently he failed, because Sheppard heaved a heavy, put-upon sigh.

"McKay was so exhausted he got loopy and started singing in the lab. I dragged him out and got him to bed, but not before his song, _this song_, got stuck in my head. I've been wandering around for an hour trying to get it to stop."

Actually, that _was _understandable. Lorne brought his niece to Disney World once and wound up with "It's a Small World After All" running in a continuous loop through his head for the next two days — the most agonizing two days of his life. And that's including the time he was shot in the knee, got separated from his team and had to walk five miles back to the gate in the middle of a snowstorm.

It's a Small World was so much more agonizing than that.

"Have you tried —"

"Stunning myself unconscious? Not yet, but it's definitely looking like an option."

"I was thinking more like listening to another song or singing this one all the way through."

"Done and done. That little rendition you caught was my third time around." Sheppard ran a hand through his hair. "I wish I were half as loopy as Rodney was."

"Sir?"

"He's sleeping like a baby." Sheppard shoved his hands in his pockets. "I'm just coherent enough to remember ­—"

Lorne couldn't help it. "Many cheerful facts about the square of the hypotenuse?"

Sheppard's stride didn't falter as he looked at Lorne and pointed. "You, Major. I hate you, too."

Lorne chuckled. "Yes, sir."

They walked silently for a few minutes, Sheppard alternating between singing softly and cursing under his breath. It didn't take Lorne long to see what the problem was.

"Colonel, you're not doing the chorus."

Sheppard looked affronted. "Of course I am."

"No, sir. You skip right over it."

Sheppard stopped and hummed to himself for a moment. He paused automatically at the chorus, then picked the song back up again. "Huh."

Sheppard wasn't your standard CO. It was one of the things Lorne appreciated about him. Belting out a Gilbert and Sullivan tune in the middle of the night? Bah! That was nothing. The man turned into a bug once. He flew space ships with his mind. He studiously looked the other way when some of his people (Lorne) asked the science department (Zelenka) to supe up a Slip 'n Slide and set it up on the east pier.

Still, Lorne paused and thought carefully before offering, "I have a suggestion, sir."

"Anything," Sheppard said immediately, and Lorne got the distinct impression he included the afore mentioned stunning in that 'anything.'

"It's dangerous, could make things worse, but I think — "

"Anything," Sheppard repeated, and yep, stunning was definitely on the table. He hoped he wouldn't need that option if this didn't work.

"It's really a two person song. I think that's why you're having trouble," Lorne said. "I could take the chorus for you."

Despite the bug-turning, space-ship-flying, Slip-n-Slide-ignoring facets of Sheppard, Lorne still wasn't prepared when he shrugged and said matter-of-factly, "Yeah, okay."

Lorne blinked. "The tune's really killing you, isn't it?"

Sheppard grimaced. "You have no idea." Then he launched into song.

The melody was off and the beat stuttered, but what Sheppard lacked in musical talent he made up for in speed. "— I'mteemingwithaloto'newswithmanycheerfulfactsaboutthe squareofthehypotenuse!"

"With many cheerful facts about the square of the hypotenuse," Lorne jumped in, almost missing his turn. "With many cheerful facts about the square of the hypotenuse. With many cheerful facts about the square of the hypotepotenuse."

Sheppard grinned.

They strode down the hall, throwing the song back and forth.

"I am the very model of a modern major general."

"He is the very model of a modern major general."

"You'll say a better major general had never sat a gee."

"You'll say a better major general had never sat a gee. You'll say a better major general had never sat a gee. You'll say a better major general had never sat a sat a gee."

A few moments later, they stopped at Sheppard's door. Just in time.

"For my military knowledge, though I'm plucky and adventury, has only been brought down to the beginning of the century. But still, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral, I am the very model of a modern major general."

"But still, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral, he is the very model of a modern major general!"

The last cheerful notes bounced off the walls and the dark hallway fell silent. Deeply, eerily silent.

Lorne looked at Sheppard. Sheppard was looking into space, frowning.

Crap.

"Uh, sir?" Lorne asked, hushed but not quite a whisper.

Slowly, deliberately, _cautiously, _Sheppard met his eyes. "I think it's gone."

Lorne smiled with relief. "That's great, sir."

Sheppard cocked his head, listening for the music only he could hear. "Yes," he said guardedly. "It's gone."

Then, pleased, "It's gone."

Then, the-wraith-are-dead enthusiastic, "It's gone!" With a wide grin and a giddy almost-giggle, he clapped Lorne on the shoulder and then disappeared inside his room.

For a moment, Lorne stared at the closed door. Then he chuckled and headed toward the command tower for his last sweep.

He knew Sheppard hadn't gotten much sleep over the last three days, but he didn't realize he was that exhausted. You had to be pretty damn sleep deprived to get that song stuck in his head. Modern Major General was catchy and all, but really….

"I am the pirate king," he sang, low and quiet as he walked. "It is, it is a glorious thing to be a pirate king."


End file.
